


Hush

by Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts



Series: A Little Mental [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Brain Damage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Speech Disorders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts/pseuds/Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts
Summary: It's hard when some things don't work like they used to.(Sequel to The End of the World)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I left the first part ending a little ambiguously, but still had ideas for some aftermath.

The Memory Den had been one of Nick’s ideas before John turned. Ferals had a problem in their brain, and Doctor Amari worked with brains for a living. Nick was revisiting the idea now.

John had regained his mind, at least from what Nick had seen. He didn’t know how long it would last, or if it would last at all, but Nick knew the best chance of saving John and keeping him sane was to have Amari take a look at the very least. It was better than nothing and out of his coat and tricorn it wasn’t like anybody would recognize the ghoul. Hell, he even glowed now. Not as much as a bright green glowing one, but enough to notice in a dim space.

Amari was surprised to see Nick when he kicked open the door; His arms were full.

“Valentine? Where on earth have you been? It’s been-” Amari began, but Nick didn’t have time for smalltalk and honestly, with a half-dead ghoul hanging limply in his arms, he felt like Amari should know that.

“Help him. He was feral but he’s not anymore and it needs to stay that way.”

“You brought a feral-?”

“I brought a good man in here. If you can do anything at all… Please, Amari. I can’t watch him disappear again.”

Amari was silent, as was Irma as she watched nearby. After what felt like hours but Nick’s internal clock knew was only about twenty seconds, Amari nodded. 

“I have a couple of private medical loungers… This way.” Amari directed solemnly, leading Nick to a smaller, much less fancy room. She opened one of the pods, and waved toward it as she hooked it to her terminal. “Set him there. I’ll have to prepare a few things.”

Nick did as he was told, and John stirred for a moment. He drowsily looked around, and Nick noticed the usually black of his eyes had dulled to grey. Silver, he amended, as he noticed they were still just as reflective. The silver eyes lingered on the synth for a moment, proving he at least wasn’t blind, and then John went back to sleep.

“I’ll have to plug him in.” Amari said, much to Nick’s confusion.

“He’s a ghoul, not a synth. How are you supposed to plug him into anything?”

“Most patrons request a port be installed but in this case I’ll have to push a special needle into his medulla. I’ll need you to hold his head up since he won’t be able to do it himself.”

Nick watched as Amari injected what she explained was a sedative into John’s arm to make sure he stayed sleeping. She then took out a three-pronged sort of needle Nick had never seen. It didn’t have a syringe, just a rod to grip it with and wire that wasn’t attached to anything else. It looked like it would do more harm than good to Nick, but he held John upright and trusted that the doctor knew what she was doing when she pushed the needle up into the back of John’s neck.

Amari clamped a wire from her terminal to the wire on the strange needle, then let Nick hold the handle while she taped more wires to John’s temples and then went to watch the screen. A focused frown set in the Doctor’s face as she tapped a few keys.

“Well… I think I see the problem.” Amari said after a few minutes. “Do you want good news or bad news first?”

“Bad first, I guess. Let’s just get that over with.” Nick decided quickly, glad that there was good news too at least.

“Very well. This man has a lesion in his brain that has filled with blood and become inflamed. Even stimpacks can’t replace brain tissue.” Amari explained.

“No cure for a hole in the head…” Nick sighed. “What’s the good news?”

“If the blood is removed and he doesn’t bleed into his brain he should be able to live normally. The affected part of his brain isn’t anything he needs to live, though he may be a bit different.”

“Different’s better than dead or running around like a sick animal.”

Nick let Amari take John and she removed the wires and needle. They left John to lay there, closing the pod around him. Amari then showed Nick her screen, pointing out the issue. The lesion was about the size of a pre-war pea, toward the front on the left side.

“That area,” Amari pointed it out and traced a crude oval around the lesion, “Is Broca’s area.”

“Definitely a broke area…” Nick said dryly. “He’ll be okay, though?”

“I’ll have to drill a small hole, drain the blood, and hope he doesn’t bleed more. He’ll have to stay sedated for a few days after, but a stim for his skull to refuse and some rest should have him on his feet.” Amari explained, then looked to the ghoul in the pod. “I’m sure I know the answer already but I have to ask you… Is that Hancock?”

Nick sighed, then nodded solemnly. 

“Then I’d better work quickly.” Amari said, leaving her terminal and setting up a tool table. “You can wait out in the main room. Let Irma know I’ll need my nurse.”

Nick would have rather stayed with John, but knew having a dusty synth in the room wasn’t safe practice for brain surgery. He also wasn’t sure he could handle witnessing a procedure like the one Amari described. He wasn’t squeamish, but given the fact it was John going under the knife, or drill in this case, it was better for everyone if Nick stayed out of sight. 

To keep himself distracted, Nick took a turn into Kent’s office. The ghoul was still here, as expected, playing his silly radio show. Nick wasn’t exactly a fan of the comic genre, he prefered long, wordy reads. Still Kent was somebody whose enthusiasm tended to grow on people and Nick didn’t want to be alone so he let the fanatic talk his ear off. It was a welcome distraction from knowing John was getting a hole in his head after all.


	2. Chapter 2

John was surprised to find himself back in his own bed at the Old State House upon waking. Carrot flowers were scattered over the blanket and an actual bouquet of the orange things sat on his end table, a nuka cola bottle serving as a vase. He couldn’t see it as well as he expected though. Anything a foot past his face was blurry as shit. For a morbid moment, John wondered if this was his funeral. Unlikely… Anyone who knew him would know he wanted to be buried in nothing but his hat. Instead he was dressed in soft lounge clothes, his usual outfit draped over a chair in the corner.

There was a note next to the nuka vase. John picked it up to squint at it. 

_’Downstairs in the Rail.’_

John smiled, glad to see Fahrenheit’s sloppy but familiar scrawl. God, how he’d missed her. He pushed himself out of bed, almost immediately falling to his knees. A headache started behind his eyes. _Shit,_ he realized, _I’m sober._

He reached under the end table. He had a small stash there for this very reason, but instead of a tin of mentats he just felt a scrap of paper. It was another note.

 _’I quit, you quit.’_

John sighed. He remembered that promise, but that had been a deal made by a dying man and John was still apparently alive. How did Nick even know he had chems under here? 

He used the bed to pull himself up, noting that his legs were still shaky. Maybe he really _should_ eat more. He got his feet steady under him and moved to the chair to change into his favored outfit. The rips of the coat had been patched, he noticed, and the whole ensemble actually looked clean. The flag looked brand fucking new. His hands were too shaky to handle buttons, so his shirt stayed open and he had to trust his flag to keep his pants up. 

He was Hancock, showing off some skin, or lack thereof, would look intentional.

Before leaving the State House, he checked the ground floor rooms. The floor was strewn with bedrolls, a few of them occupied with drifters in various states of health getting some well needed rest. _Good._ John was glad to see whoever the new mayor was had kept his open-door policy. 

 

By some miracle, John didn’t fall down the stairs and he made it to the Third Rail with no tripping in either sense. Ham wasn’t guarding the door, which was odd. Maybe he was off duty, John guessed. The guy had to sleep sometimes.

A loud cheer rose up as soon as John made it down, setting his flight response off and prompting him to run halfway back up before he realised there was no danger.

“Goddammit, I told you people not to overwhelm him.”

_Nicky._

John took a breath, trying to calm his nerves. Hell he owned this town even if there was a new mayor. These were his people. Most of them loved him, a few on multiple occasions. Not that he was a touring ghoul anymore. _Fucking focus!_

Another breath, then back into the Rail he went, managing to get to the bar with the slow saunter he usually used when he knew he was in charge. He picked a stool to sit on, making sure it didn’t look like he had just sat down because he wasn’t sure how long he could stand without shaking. God, he wanted to vomit. 

“‘Ancock. Nice to see you out an’ about again.” Charlie greeted him in the usual way, like he hadn’t been gone at all. 

John wanted to respond, hoping to catch up on all he missed. He wanted to. He had the words for it in his brain but they wouldn’t go to his mouth. Halfway to his mouth the words just… Stopped. The best he could do was one horribly slurred syllable that just barely sounded like “Hhhhhey.”

_Shit._

He tried again, but the second attempt sounded even worse and _what in the blue fuck was going on?!_

Nick was the first to get to him, despite several others making an aborted attempt to approach. Even if the original Nick hadn’t had training on how to read warning signs of a panic attack, John was for once being very obvious about what his emotions were doing. Already the ghoul was starting to hyperventilate, his hands twitching before covering his face.

Nick hesitated to touch him, unsure how much John could handle. Hell, Nick knew a party was a bad idea. He’d said as much but the others all thought they knew best. John went willingly into the detective’s arms, though, clinging to the trenchcoat.

A concerned silence fell over the patrons of the Third Rail. They had been hoping to welcome their mayor back with open arms, booze, chems, and music. Maybe even a little debauchery if he was in that sort of a mood, but something was very wrong.

Fahrenheit must have also noticed, calling out to draw attention away from John. 

“Alright, party’s over. Rail’s closed.” The woman barked.

There were a few sounds of protest, but as soon as Fahrenheit put her hand on the ashmaker everyone was quick to leave. The only stragglers were herself, Kleo, Charlie, Nick, and John. 

“Having a bad trip?” Kleo asked, her eye flickering in worry.

John shook his head. He wished that’s what this was.

“Then what’s wrong?” Fahrenheit reached out, then thought better of it and retracted her hand, folding her arms in front of her.

John shook his head again. He didn’t even know. He just physically couldn’t make himself speak. God, what was he if not a ghoul with a smart mouth?

Nick, ever observant, caught on. “Get him something to write with.” The synth said to whichever one of the others would do it.

Kleo was out and back quickly, having gone to get paper and a pencil from Daisy’s shop, next door to her own. It was hard for her to hold something so small as a pencil with her hands built the way that they were, so it had been folded in the paper. Nick took it, unfolded it, and handed it over quickly to John.

The language issue thankfully didn’t carry over to written words, though his hands were shaky and his usually neat penmanship suffered for it. He hoped that was due to his nerves and nothing permanent.

_’Can’t talk.’_

“You were having trouble with it when you came back from… being sick.” Nick agreed, making it clear to John he hadn’t told anyone that he’d been feral for a while. “Maybe it’ll pass? You’re still recovering.”

 _’Maybe. Going back upstairs.’_

“You should eat while you’re down here at least.” Charlie huffed, starting to put together… Something. Nick personally wasn’t sure it was actually even food. 

John politely declined with a wave and braced himself on the counter to stand. He wobbled, and Fahrenheit was quick to catch him. Now that he was close enough to see her clearly, she looked different.

The burns on her face had spread and she had swapped her sidecut for a thinner mohawk. She still had her nose, but John recognized the early signs.

_Oh no. Not her._

Sure, John had taken a drug to do it but it the ability to become a ghoul was a genetic trait. Without the gene he would have died from the rads, but Fahrenheit couldn’t have been exposed to that much radiation just from being in Goodneighbor. Or could she? There were a lot of ghouls around and even though they weren't enough to set off a geiger counter, it was rumored ghouls were all a little radioactive. Even doing his best to not ruin her life, his genetics had gone and done it for him. 

This day just kept getting worse and it had barely started. Everything was just too much and John nudged Fahrenheit away to get past her to the stairs. She didn’t let him push her, though, and helped him stay steady on his feet. Nick followed, but Kleo stayed behind with Charlie.

“Wot d’you suppose got into ‘im?” Charlie wondered.

Kleo didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to pry. Fahrenheit would probably tell her, if the bodyguard learned.


	3. Chapter 3

John got stronger in the next few days. His hands still shook and speaking was impossible sometimes so he didn’t leave his room much. He didn’t want his citizens to see him so weak, but he was eating regularly. He was also dying for a hit of… anything, really, but a deal was a deal. He hadn’t seen or smelled a single cigarette on Nick since waking up and if that chainsmoker could give that up for him then John could sure as hell get clean. He’d done it twice before, the only difference now was that he had to stick with it.

He was still mayor, oddly enough. His people hadn’t appointed anyone else, keeping him with them in spirit while he’d been gone and not changing his policies. ‘What would Hancock do?’ had become the basis for what passed for laws around Goodneighbor and John was touched but didn’t feel like he deserved that. 

Nick kept him company, helping however he could. He was endlessly patient to the point it was starting to piss John off. John wondered if it was his actual emotions or just the aftereffects of being feral that had him so irritable. Whatever it was he hated it; He hated feeling helpless. Feeling helpless is why he went ghoul in the first place and look what it had done to him.

Despite the annoyance, he was also glad Nick was sticking by him. Sure, the coddling wasn’t ideal but it was reassuring to know Nick wasn’t leaving anytime soon even though John had probably given him plenty of reasons given him plenty of reasons.

But then came the anger again, because Nick had stuck himself to a confident, self-assured leader and ended up with a hermit that didn’t leave his room and could barely speak. It wasn’t fair to either of them and if John had to hear the same damn songs on the radio again he’d throw it. And then he did throw it, because why wait. It crashed against the wall, breaking on impact. The music fizzled out into silence and for a moment John felt a little better.

The next thing to shatter against a wall was an old phone that didn’t even work anyway. Then the typewriter, which _did_ work. A lamp, several papers, and anything decorative ended up shattered on the floor, leaving John standing in the middle of the wreckage. He was panting from the exertion, almost growling.

“Are you finished?” Nick asked from the doorway. 

John hadn’t noticed his presence until now.

“Hhhwaant… t-to… _Want_ to…” John started, hating the slur and false starts his voice seemed dead set on keeping now. He couldn’t get any more than that out, however, and turned the resulting aggression on a chair which ended up halfway across the room.

“Calm down.” Nick told him. “Write it out. What do you want to do?”

He wanted Nick to stop fucking coddling him for one thing, but that hadn’t been what he was trying to say. He nearly broke his pencil with how forceful he was with it, then shoved the note he’d written to Nick.

_’I want to leave.’_

Nick read it, and nodded like he understood, but how could he? Nick was still fine. Nick could talk. Nick’s hands were steady enough that he could shoot straight. Nick wasn’t grieving the fact his daughter’s skin was falling off and blaming himself for it. Nick hadn’t lost his mind, attacked friends, and spent who knows how long acting like a fucking animal. Nick didn’t keep himself awake glowing in the fucking dark. Nick wasn’t dealing with the upsetting urge to punch his lover for being so damn nonreactive.

“Where should we go, then?” Nick asked.

 _We._ Of course _we._ It wasn’t like John could go anywhere by himself with his bullshit aim and intrusive violent urges. Hell, he should probably apologize for some of those. He remembered he’d probably hurt Preston worse than Nick had told him. 

“Ssss…. Sanch… ffffuckh.” John tried.

“Sanctuary?” Nick asked.

John nodded.

“Well, alright. We’d better get some rest, then.” 

John huffed, then moved to right the chair. His tantrum had apparently been heard, though, as soon Fahrenheit had appeared in the doorway where Nick had been.

“You should stop throwing things. You’ll break something important.” The bodyguard warned. “Like yourself.”

John’s brain was already broken so what did some furniture or a bone matter? Still, it wasn’t right to needlessly worry the woman. She probably had plenty on her mind too, and she was smarter than him so there was probably more for her to think about. John grunted, then sighed. 

“We’ll be taking a trip.” Nick reported. Fahrenheit bristled visibly, but Nick was quick to elaborate. “Just to Sanctuary.”

“For how long?” 

John shrugged and shook his head. Nick mirrored the gesture. Neither knew, but Nick hoped it would be enough to sate John’s wanderlust.

“You better bring him back in one piece, Valentine.” Fahrenheit said coldly, obvious distrust in her tone. 

Nick didn’t blame her. Last time John left with him they were gone for years and came back a mess. Sanctuary was safe, however, and John was okay for the most part. They could keep in touch this time. Maybe even hire a courier and perfect the nearly lost art of letter-writing.

John began picking up the mess he had made, feeling guilty when Nick and Fahrenheit both began to help him. He would have told them to stop and that he could do it by himself since it was his fault, but with his hands occupied he couldn’t say much of anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and shitty but it's something. Also might have accidentally fucked around and found a definitive plot for this.

Nick managed to talk John into getting a check up with Amari. He wanted to make sure the ghoul would be okay to travel. It took a few hours since she could only check on John’s brain via needle which required him to be sedated. Since there were probably going to be additional checks needed, John went ahead and requested a port and the surgery took even more time for healing and recovery. 

They ended up staying in Goodneighbor another two weeks which Nick was happy about. Fahrenheit seemed happy about it too. John needed the rest even if he didn’t want to admit it. He was antsy, though. He didn’t like his town looking at him with what he saw as pity.

Goodneighbor as a collective still didn’t know what exactly had happened to John. Most assumed he had gotten badly hurt somehow. There were a few rumors going around about the situation. The most popular rumor was that he had survived a bullet through the throat and that's why he wasn’t talking anymore. A few people tried asking Nick about why he and John had left in the first place, but he kept everything to himself. It wasn’t their business.

Fahrenheit knew, since John didn’t have it in him to keep such a big secret from her. He’d filled half a notebook with what he could remember of the walkabout through the Commonwealth and left it with her to read. Amari knew, on a surface level, because she needed to know to care for John properly as a doctor. Nick was the only one who had been with him the whole way.

John could barely believe he’d been gone for years. He couldn’t remember most of it. He’d been out of his mind the whole time that he was in the Glowing Sea. Sometimes he thought some of it was coming back. He occasionally caught random memories he couldn’t place flitting though his mind; Nick sitting on a rock and talking to him, other ferals, a lot of scorpions. One time in the haze between sleeping and waking he remembered a deathclaw and Nick dying, but that couldn’t have possibly happened since Nick was still around so he chalked it up to a nightmare.

Finally, Amari cleared John to leave. His last night in Goodneighbor was a party, one he could actually handle this time. It was in the streets under the statehouse, lit by firelight. He drank, he danced, and much to Nick’s proud surprise he declined any chems passed his way. 

It was to his own proud surprise that he noticed Fahrenheit offering a dance to Kleo. He sent a smug grin their way, earning a roll of his daughter’s eyes. He wolf-whistled just to be embarrassing and to try getting a rise out of her. Kleo raised a claw and though she only had three fingers, experience had taught him it was her version of flipping him a clunky metal bird. Nick gently swatted the back of his hat, causing it to fall forward and cover his face.

“Let the girls have fun.” Nick scolded, though John could hear his smile. 

John leaned up and kissed him through the leather.

 

When they left in the morning, John was surprised to find dead ghouls outside of the wall. There were four, one still faintly glowing even after death. He recognized Hatchetface, and though the others were familiar, he couldn’t put any names to faces.

“Right…” Nick sighed as he noticed John’s hesitation. “They followed us here. Or, followed _you,_ rather. You picked up a pack in the Sea. I tried shooing them off but they wouldn’t have it and the Watch shot them when we got here.” He explained, a bit of regret in his voice. 

John frowned and sighed heavily, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. 

_‘We fixed me. We could have done something for them too.’_

“I didn’t know to plan for it.” Nick said, though he could sympathize. “They’re at peace now at least. Maybe if we could get more ferals for Amari to look at safely, one at a time… They’re just sick people, after all.”

John nodded, considering how to make something work out for the better in the wasteland. Maybe if the issue of ghouls going feral had a surefire cure then there might be less of a stigma against them.


End file.
